Coloured People Love Giving Each Other Brutally Funny Nicknames

Years ago, I greeted my cousin’s friend, “Ow, Pie-bek.” He was taken aback. My cousin gave me a look that said, “We don’t call him that to his face.” He got the name because he loved eating pies. The strange part is, the nickname they actually used in front of him was much worse.

That’s what I both love and hate about my Coloured people. The nicknames we give to family members, friends, neighbours… anyone within range really. Nobody’s safe. Nobody escapes. It’s like a cultural sport. You don’t get named, you get clocked. A mix of observation, creativity, pure comedic timing and a hint of cruelty. And once it sticks, finish en klaar. That’s the government name you’ll have till the day the Lordt takes you.

And the lateral thinking doesn’t go far. Especially if it’s something you’re even slightly self-conscious about; that’s exactly where we aim. No mercy. Skinny? Jy is “Graate.” Got high cheekbones, Khoisan cheeks, beautiful round cheeks? Jy’s “Wange.” Long fingers or you got caught fishing meat out your gran’s Sunday pot? “Vingers.” Assigned male at birth? “Tollie.” The eldest? “Ousus” or “Ouboet.” Like seafood? “Vis.” One oddly long testicle? My bru… “Langbal.” For life! Once judgement is made, once the gavel drops, no appeals! No HR department.

Coloured Nicknames are a Combination of Roasting and Affection

It’s never just descriptive. It’s layered with history; with that one incident from 2007 that nobody forgets. You thought people moved on? Nee. That one time you slipped, choked, cried, fell, wore something questionable… It’s archived, indexed, and turned into your identity.

And it’s normal. It’s not just the names; it’s how casually they’re used. We’ll say these names with so much love, so much familiarity, but also with a sharpness that would absolutely finish someone from outside the culture. It’s affection and roasting in the same breath. It’s sharp, funny, and always slightly brutal. It says, “I love you and you’re one of us.”

Sometimes what others would consider as an insult, binds us. We don’t say, “Hey, nice backpack!” We say, Kyk hie vir Ninja Turtle.” If a guy says, “I will cross the ocean for you,” we reply with “Niiie, kyk hie vir Moses.” It’s a way to state, “I see you. And the fact that you understand it, makes us kin.”

It’s affection wrapped in insult; insult wrapped in familiarity. You can’t even be offended properly because everyone else is also catching strays. It builds belonging, but also… you learn quickly where your soft spots are, because someone’s going to press on them. With witnesses who are now part of your crew.

You’ll Remember People’s Nicknames and Never Know Their Real Names

A friend and I were talking. We have aunts, uncles, and cousins whose real names we don’t even know, like, at all. Full grown adults. People with IDs, bank accounts, children, fully paid off Edgars accounts. But to us? A nickname. With depth, history and character. Sometimes they’ve sadly passed on, and only at the funeral you’re standing there, reading the pamphlet like, “Oh. Langbal’s name was actually Anthony. Yoh… suits him. RIP.”

It’s wild. It’s hilarious. It’s brutal. It’s clever. It’s community. It’s ours… but it also says something deeper. About how we see each other. We see and remember one trait, one moment, one joke, and then freeze it forever. No rebranding.

Still… you have to admit. Nobody names people like us.